


Goaded

by Draycevixen



Category: The Three Musketeers (2011), d'Artagnan Romances (Three Musketeers Series) - All Media Types
Genre: AO3 1 Million, Jealousy, M/M, Pining, Porn Battle, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 17:28:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1193586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draycevixen/pseuds/Draycevixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Porn Battle prompt: Jealousy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goaded

“So, what d’you think of the boy?” The words were slurred, Porthos already deep in his cups.

He thought he’d like to see the boy’s head on a pike. “D’Artagnan?”

“No, some other boy you’ve been staring daggers at all night.”

The pushy little bastard deserved it. “I haven’t.”

Porthos signalled the innkeeper to bring more wine. “Aramis, if looks could kill we’d be burying the poor wretch in the morning.” 

If only it were that simple. “He has no sense of decorum.”

“He’s drunk” Porthos belched and scratched himself “and no worse than the rest of us.” 

“He was practically curling up in Athos’s lap, like an adoring puppy.” He mercilessly crushed the voice of conscience that accused him of jealousy. He was just concerned about appearances and that was all.

“He _is_ an adoring puppy. It’s up to us to teach him to hunt.”

“Still, Athos shouldn’t encourage him.” Athos had never encouraged Aramis. 

“Oh, I think he’s doing a lot more than that.” Porthos had his _have you heard the joke about the nun, the goat and the cardinal?_ expression plastered all over his plastered face.

“ _What?_ ”

“When I went out earlier, to take a piss, I saw D’Artaganan going in to Athos’s room.”

“That means nothing.” It had to mean nothing.

“Perhaps not, but as the door closed I could see them embracing.”

He’d castrate the little bastard... perhaps the big bastard too. “I need something from my room.”

“I thought you might.” 

He turned briefly at the foot of the stairs as Porthos yelled after him. 

“Oh, and Aramis, if you do need help burying someone in the morning, don’t wake me up too early.”

 

Aramis had ran from the inn to the stable with his cloak pulled over his head, but his breeches were still soaked through by the time he got there, the storm that had caused them to stop at the inn still unabated. He'd been foolish to check on Athos. He slung the saddle bags he was carrying over his shoulder and pulled his saddle from the rack before walking back to the front of the stable, to stand in the doorway watching the storm. It would be foolish to ride off in to the storm, his horse barely fed and rested to say nothing of his own health, but if he stayed he would commit murder. Decision made, he was turning to look for his horse when his saddle was knocked from his hands. 

_Athos_. He’d obviously hastily pulled on his breeches and boots, his laces and buckles still undone.

He went to pick up his saddle again but Athos stepped in front of it. 

“Why are you leaving?” Athos's hair was plastered to his head, rivulets of water running down his bare chest, towards his—

“You’re fucking the boy.”

“No, I’m not.”

Aramis struggled to remember that while striking Athos would undoubtedly be a great source of pleasure, getting bloodstains out of kid leather gloves really was a pain in the arse. He took a deep breath and tried reason. “D’Artagnan was in your bed.”

“Yes.” 

“You had your arms around him.”

“Yes.” Athos leaned back against the stable wall. 

“He was naked.”

“Yes.”

All he had to do was stop talking and walk away. “ _You_ were naked.”

“Obviously. You could see that for yourself after you walked in on us, without knocking first I might add.”

How had he let himself be goaded in to this conversation? Athos wasn’t his, never had been and never would be. If he’d just got on his horse and left— “And still you deny it?” 

“Yes.” Athos stepped forward, forcing Aramis to back up against the horse stall. “So that’s the sum total of your evidence for accusing me of sodomy? A naked man in my bed?”

“Yes— No.” Athos could twist anything. “Just...” 

"You've been naked in my bed."

They'd shared a bed more than once over the years out of necessity, torturous sleepless nights where he'd had to stifle the urge to— "That was different."

"In what way?"

Athos had never shown any sign of wanting him, never wrapped his arms around his chest— "Never mind." 

"The boy was just looking for comfort." 

Even Athos couldn't be that stupid. His incredulity must have registered on his face. 

Athos straightened, his hands going to his hips in a way that displayed his lean body to its best advantage. "Well, that was all _he_ was getting." 

If he stayed he was going to do something they'd both regret. "Do as you will." He picked up his saddle and started towards his horse. "It's no concern of mine." 

Athos stepped in front of him again, reaching out to run one finger across Aramis’s crucifix. “You’re the one who hangs a naked man around his neck.”

Athos staggered backwards, bleeding from a split lip. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, grinning through bloodstained teeth. "Hit a nerve, Aramis?"

Aramis was going to need a new pair of gloves anyway so there was no point in holding back now. He dropped his saddle bags and stepped in fast, swinging at Athos's head, only to have Athos weave, duck, and bring his own fist up in to Aramis's stomach, driving him backwards. 

"Wouldn't want to mar that pretty face."

Aramis had no such scruples, determined to wipe the shit eating grin off Athos's face. He feinted left then landed a solid right to Athos's jaw, knocking him down in to the straw. His triumph was short lived as Athos's foot swept his legs out from under him. 

And then Athos was on him, pinning him down, forcing his hands over his head. He bucked against him, watching Athos grin down at him. 

"Not that I'm not enjoying this—"

Aramis immediately stopped moving, conscious that his own body was betraying him from the friction against Athos's hips. 

"—but I think you should apologize for your slanderous accusations."

He glared up at Athos. 

"At least explain why you're so angry?"

Hell would freeze over first. As he struggled against Athos's hold again, Athos shifted his hips and— Athos _knew._

"Kiss it better?" Athos smirked at him, lowering his head. 

Smug bastard. He bit him, coming away with the coppery taste of Athos's blood in his mouth. 

As Athos reared up on to his knees, hands instinctively going to his mouth, he raised his knee but missed his target, striking Athos low on his stomach. Athos crawled off him, one hand clutching at his stomach as he moved. 

He drew himself up and hurled himself on to Athos's back, fist connecting with Athos's kidney, collapsing him to the ground. They both lay there, gasping for breath until Athos reached for Aramis's abandoned saddle, dragging himself forward. By the time Aramis could dig in his boots and press down on Athos's wrists enough to stop further movement, they were both half draped across the saddle, Athos's arse pressing up against Aramis's cock which was obviously happy with the current turn of events.

"Fuck you, Athos." Why couldn't he have just let him leave?

Athos pressed his arse upwards. "It'd work better without the breeches."

What? He drew one gloved hand slowly down Athos's back and he arched in to it. 

He'd been an idiot. "Not the boy then?" He reared back on to his knees, removing his gloves and working on his breeches' laces. 

"No." Athos started working his unlaced breeches down over his hips. "...Not God?"

All the times Athos had made jokes about his faith, he'd never realized that Athos was jealous, despite the level of venom— he really was an idiot. "...Not _only._ " 

Aramis breathed a sigh of relief as he freed his cock from his breeches, running his hand over Athos's naked arse. He'd accused Athos of fucking the boy so now didn't seem like the right time to ask if Athos had enough experience that spit would do. "Turn over, I'll suck your cock."

"Saddle soap."

"What?" 

"In your saddle bags." 

Of course. He reached over Athos, pulling the bags nearer, removing the small pot. He slicked his fingers, his other hand caressing Athos's arse. 

"Get on with it." 

He slid one finger in, Athos pushing back impatiently against him, speeding things along. 

"More."

"Yes, sir." He slid in another finger, as Athos cursed and flexed beneath him. He bent forward to kiss his way up Athos's spine, before Athos turned his head and Aramis stopped moving.

"What now?"

The damage to Athos's face, his swollen jaw and mouth, he'd done that to the man he—

"You think too much. Kiss me, you ass."

He did, trying to keep it gentle against the ruin of Athos's mouth but Athos, as usual, had his own ideas. Athos surged up, his tongue invading Aramis's mouth and so he kissed back just as fiercely, twisting his fingers and adding a third. 

Athos drew back, panting, wiping at his bleeding mouth. "Fuck me, before I anoint your saddle just from this." 

Aramis slicked up his cock and pushed slowly all the way in to the tight, slick heat of Athos. He bit the inside of his mouth, determined to give Athos the chance to adjust, without embarrassing himself like an untried schoolboy. 

Athos sighed heavily. "You never were good at taking orders. I said _fuck me._ I want to feel you every mile of the ride to Paris in the morning. If you want to talk about our feelings while braiding each other's hair you—"

He snapped his hips backwards and then rammed Athos in to the saddle beneath him.

"Fuck, now you're getting it."

It would be Athos who would be getting it, fuck finesse. He ploughed in to him, the saddle inching further across the floor.

His knees rubbed raw against the fabric of his breeches, his fingernails split as he tried to find purchase in the hard dirt floor and he was red eyed and choking on the straw, dirt and god knows what else they were stirring up. The most disgusting filthiest rawest sex of his life and it was perfect. _Athos_ was cursing him. _Athos_ coated in dirt and straw and blood. _Athos_ urging him on and pushing back hard in to every thrust of his hips. _Athos_ , breathed in with every struggling fetid breath, under him, surrounding him, yelling his name— _Perfect._

 

"Aramis?"

"Hmmm?"

"I have to tell you something."

He shifted off Athos to lie by his side, where he could see his face. "Yes, Athos?"

"I think I've ruined your saddle."


End file.
